Something Less Than Perfect
by Uluru2064
Summary: Set nearly one year after "All Along." Although she moved on with her life long ago, Hermione has not forgotten the night of Ginny's 22nd birthday.
1. One

_What a night,_ Hermione reflected wordlessly as she recalled Ginny's 22nd birthday party. Almost a year had passed since she, Harry and Ron had celebrated Ginny's birthday at a Muggle university pub. Although life had certainly continued, Hermione frequently found her thoughts drifting back to the unspoken significance of that night.

_What significance?_, she asked herself, annoyed with her own persistence. It was the leading question in an inner debate she'd been having since they departed from the bar that night last May. She had hashed over the events so many times in her mind, she often worried they would drive her mad. Not that she was a stranger to over-analyzing, certainly she wasn't. Yet even she, the poster child for thoroughness, tired of her own inability to let that evening fade to a distant memory.

She was brought back to reality by the sound of her name being called. She focused on her colleague who was standing a few feet away beckoning her to follow him down the corridor to the Artifact Accidents ward of St. Mungo's for mid-day checkups. Clearing her mind, she stepped back into the busy rhythm of her weekday routine.

By the end of the day, she was exhausted. She had worked a full day at St. Mungo's, only to dash from her clinic where she attended a few appointments to the nearby Center for Underprivileged Magical Creatures where she volunteered two nights a week. She sat on the Board of Directors of the Center, which focused on providing food, shelter and education for the Wizarding World's disadvantaged. After fulfilling her volunteer duties, she slipped away to the office to complete the weekly paperwork and administrative tasks. By the time the evening rolled around, she was worn out.

With a resonating 'CRACK' she returned home to the small flat she shared with Ginny, who was awaiting her in the kitchen. Hermione inhaled the pleasant aromas wafting from the pots and pans that littered the kitchen counters. As she did daily, Hermione thanked Merlin that Ginny's student status allowed her the time to experiment in the kitchen.

"Hey! How was your day?," Ginny chirped over the bar separating the kitchen from the living area, where Hermione had just arrived.

"Not too bad, actually. How was class?" Hermione responded as she eased out of her ivy green spring coat and hauled her bags to her bedroom.

Ginny called down the hall after her, "Nothing new, really. I did get high marks on the exam I wrote last week."

"Well done, Gin!," Hermione responded as she remerged from the rear of the flat, pulling her hair up into a ponytail as she strolled into the kitchen. "Dinner smells fantastic, what are we having?" she asked as she peered into a bubbling kettle.

"Harry's favorite. We're celebrating, actually. He received raving performance reviews for the Albanian mission last week. Although he's too modest to say it, I think he's hoping it will result in a promotion." Ginny positively beamed as the topic turned to her boyfriend.

"That's wonderful news!" Hermione was very proud of her dear friend and his successes, although never truly surprised. In his first year out of training, Harry had become a very successful Auror and was on the fast track to a high ranking position. He was excelling quickly in his profession.

_So is Ron,_ Hermione's sadly added internally. Ron had taken a field position in Bolivia some eight months previously. Although Ginny kept her updated on his whereabouts, Hermione hadn't spoken with him since he left. She, Ginny and Harry had all accompanied him to the Portkey taking him abroad to say their goodbyes. Hermione recalled their parting words were strained, at best. Prior to that afternoon, it had been forever since she and Ron had had anything closely amounting to a conversation. _Almost a year_, she calculated mentally. She was brought back to the present by the tail end of Ginny's musings.

" . . . figured it would be a nice evening for a little dinner party, I went ahead and invited Alister. Is that ok with you?"

"Alister? Oh. Yes, of course . . . that would be nice. Thanks, Gin," Hermione lamely responded. "If you don't mind, I'm going to grab a quick shower." Not waiting for a response, Hermione slipped back down the hallway to the bathroom.

Once safely locked in, she cranked open the faucet knobs and waited for the water to heat up. As steam began to fill the room, she contemplated her reflection in the mirror above the sink. Alister was not someone she had the energy for tonight. As that thought crossed her mind, she gave herself a disgusted look in the mirror before slipping out of her clothes and into the numbing comfort of the hot water.

Alister McGaff. The golden boy of Gringott's, and the rainmaker of the wizarding business world. He was one of the most handsome and sought after men in London. He was one of the most respected wizards and businessmen in the community, despite his young age of 30. He was also her boyfriend of several months.

The problem? He adored her. This handsome, charming, wonderful man absolutely adored her - and she knew she didn't feel as strongly for him. They had been dating for nearly nine months. Last summer, he had brought his young niece into her clinic after a playground game turned sour and a miss-spelled charm extended each of her toes by several meters. After Hermione tended to the frightened child and chided her for using magic at such a young age, her attentions turned to Alister. She gave him instructions on treatment, should his niece find herself in such a predicament again and tried to fend off his flirtatious advances. However, his engaging smile and clever wit won her over, and after several minutes of resistance she gave into his incessant requests to have coffee together later that week.

Coffee led to dinner the next week, and dinner led to another a few days later. After several weeks, they were dating exclusively. He was smart and witty, and loved books nearly as much as she did. He brought her flowers and simple presents to show her he was thinking of her. They spent much of their free time together, although that wasn't saying too much. She was as busy as ever at her clinic and he had found a fantastic, but relentless, niche for himself in the banking world. Still, they promised to dine together at least 2 nights a week and spend the majority of the weekend relaxing together. They weren't always able to stick with this arrangement, but he was always understanding and supportive of her decisions to work extra hours or spend time performing much-needed menial tasks at the Center. He would even stop in to bring her lunch during particularly long days at the clinic or cancel his weekend plans to help with fundraisers and food drives for the Center.

He was perfect.

And that, Hermione bitterly acknowledged as she leaned her head back into the water, was exactly she could never fall in love with him.

Hermione emerged from the bathroom to the delicious aroma of simmering dinner. She hadn't realized how hungry she was until her stomach growled in anticipation for one of Ginny's amazing meals.

She slipped into her bedroom and pulled on a pair of jeans and a top. She towel dried her hair, twisted it up off her neck and secured it with a clip. She glanced longingly at her bed. She was so tired from her exhausting day and couldn't think of anything more wonderful than crawling under the covers for the night. Wish as she might, she realized bedtime was not an option as she heard the unmistakable sound of someone Apparating right into the living area of the flat.

Hermione peered down the hall to see a smiling Harry easing out of this jacket. She called out a greeting from her bedroom, as she stepped back inside to take a quick look at herself in the mirror.

'CRACK!'

Although she should have been expecting this, the loud noise startled her. Her eyes caught Alister's reflection in the mirror. She smiled and turned around to greet him.

"Hello, Darling," he said as he brought her into his strong arms for a hug. "Merlin, it feels good to hold you."

"Alister," she responded. "I'm happy to see you too." And she was. He smelled so nice and the way he held her made her feel warm and safe.

"I realize it's a bit scandalous to be popping directly into your bedroom, but I couldn't wait a second longer to see you," he said while pulling back to kiss her softly on the mouth.

"No worries," she said with a small smile after he had pulled away. "Harry just got here and I'm sure he and Gin would be happy for a few seconds alone." Her stomach gurgled again and she continued, "Unfortunately, I'm so hungry that a few seconds is all they are going to get!" Alister chuckled as she took his hand and led him out of her room and down the hall to the living area of the flat.

Greetings were exchanged as Harry and Alister shook hands before everyone set out to help with the meal. Harry and Alister chatted while setting the table while Hermione helped Ginny load the feast on to platters and dishes. The quartet sat down for a delicious dinner and discussed Harry's performance review and upcoming mission to Canada.

Hermione nodded at all of the appropriate moments but couldn't focus on the conversation around her. She marveled at how comfortable she should feel - surrounded by her closest friends and perfect boyfriend, eating a delicious meal – but didn't. As always during one of these intimate evenings, something gnawed at her and prevented her from enjoying herself as she should.

Of course she knew it was Ron's absence. It was always Ron's absence. It was as if his departure left some sort of hole in her soul. She looked at Harry and Ginny and knew the same would be true if either of them took off for the far side of the world. They had survived so much together, being without one of her nearest and dearest friends took a heavy toll on her emotions. She couldn't understand how Ron could do it. How he could up and leave the comfort and security those closest to him provided? How he could be content not communicating with them? With her?

_I'm at it again, _she chastised herself.

She needed air. Hermione excused herself from the table and slipped into her bedroom. She headed for the far wall, pulled open the miniature French doors and stepped onto the small wooden balcony that stood outside her bedroom. This was the place she came to clear her mind. The view wasn't anything special, but the noise of the city always drowned the sounds of her own thoughts ricocheting around in her head. She took a few deep breaths of the chilly spring air and felt calmer immediately. After a few quiet moments, she reluctantly headed back into the flat and returned to the table.

Alister had just finished recounting his latest attempt at convincing the Gringott's Board to diversity its investments when Hermione reentered the room. She chimed into Alister's story, reminding him of one of the humorous responses his proposal generated as she began clearing the empty plates from the table. Once in the kitchen, she listened to Harry laugh heartily at Alister's description of the stingy Goblin executives as she prepared a pot of tea. She almost didn't hear the sharp raps on the small kitchen window.

Turning away from the tea, Hermione stepped over to the window to peer outside. She nearly jumped when two yellow eyes appeared directly in front of her. _What has gotten into me tonight? It's just an owl! _

"Anyone expecting anything?" she asked as she slid open the window, allowing a great brown owl into the flat. The owl glided into the dining area and landed on the open space left on the table by Hermione's recently cleared plate. The owl faced Ginny and held out its leg for her attention.

"Wonder what this is," said Ginny softly.

She carefully untied the letter from the owl's leg before slipping a palm full of table scraps its way. The owl devoured her offer and hooted in appreciation before lifting off the table, gliding toward the kitchen, through the window and out into the night. Hermione closed the window before returning to the teapot in the kitchen.

"What is it, Gin?" asked Hermione who was peering over the bar separating the two areas of the flat.

Ginny did not respond immediately. She read and re-read the letter and set it down on the table, obviously allowing the news to sink in. Both Harry and Alister gave her looks of curious concern. After a few moments of silence, Hermione let the teapot alone and approached the table.

Finally, she spoke. "It's Ron . . ." she said in a sad, wistful tone.

Hermione's heart plummeted. Something had happened to Ron.

He was hurt. Maimed. Dead.

Hermione felt the ache of anguish and despair spill into her heart as she contemplated existing without the chance of seeing his smile or listening to his laugh ever again. She was so wrapped up in her own grief, she barely overheard Ginny finish her sentence.

"He's coming home." she exhaled in disbelief.


	2. Two

Hermione spent the next several days in a fog. Ron's homecoming weighed heavily on her shoulders. She wanted to be excited. She wanted to bustle about town with Ginny and Harry preparing for his arrival. Instead, she worked diligently at her Healing clinic attempting to conquer the stack of paperwork that had accumulated on her desk.

Unfortunately, her low level of enthusiasm for his arrival was the least of her concerns. Ever since Ginny received the news of Ron's impending homecoming, Hermione's mind had been racing. Her reaction to her initial assumption of the worst overwhelmed her. For the brief seconds she believed Ron to be dead, her world had ended. She felt as if her heart had stopped, as if someone was squeezing the very life out of her. She felt as if she was watching the universe disintegrate around her. Her breathing had become erratic and the roaring in her ears almost drowned out the sound of Ginny's voice when she added that Ron was coming home.

Not long after the owl arrived, Hermione announced that she was retiring early. She saw Alister out and agreed to a dinner date the following Friday before giving him a chaste kiss on the cheek. When he expressed concern, she reassured him that she was merely exhausted from a long day of work before wishing him good-night and softly closing the door. She bade goodnight to Harry and Ginny, now curled up in front of a roaring fireplace, before heading to her room and crawling immediately into bed. She hoped that sleep would ease the pounding in her head.

But she didn't sleep. She tossed and turned until she was able to temporarily drift off, but was awakened by horrible nightmares throughout the night.

Ron being tortured.

Ron's death.

Ron's funeral.

Each time, she woke up long enough to realize she was dreaming only to be haunted by equally horrible images as soon as she closed her eyes again.

The most frightening and mysterious theme of her dreams remained the same: Ron would die without knowing . . .

_Without knowing what?_, she asked herself as she sifted through several documents on her desk. _Without knowing that I despise this rift that has grown between us? Without knowing, despite the distance separating us, that he will always remain one of my closest friends – and the only person that knows me inside and out? Without knowing that I can't imagine life without him? Without knowing that I don't love Alister?_

She paused as she repeated her last question to herself. _What difference . . . _

Hermione quickly pulled a piece of parchment from her desk drawer and poised her quill above it. She intended to cancel Friday's dinner date with Alister. What she had to tell him could not wait.

After leaving the clinic, she met Alister at his loft in a more affluent district of the city. They sipped tea while small talking at his quant dining room table before Alister interjected softly, "Hermione, I know you didn't come all the way here to tell me about the interesting malady you encountered at work today. Why don't you tell me why you wanted to see me so urgently?"

This was it. .

"I," she started. She was about to make the potentially biggest mistake of her life

"I . . . I'm not sure this is working anymore, Alister."

He searched her eyes curiously, probably hoping to find a trace of humor there. When he didn't find it, he nodded solemnly and indicated for her to continue.

"Lately," she continued, "I've felt overwhelmed with work and the Center and it's led me to do a lot of thinking."

"Go on, Hermione" he whispered, focusing on his tea.

"I care for you very much," she offered. "Merlin knows the last several months have been absolutely wonderful. Something from a film, really." She smiled softly. "You are the sweetest, kindest, most ambitious man I know. I admire what you've accomplished and what I know you'll achieve in the future. But I don't see myself sharing that future with you." She lowered her voice as she spoke the last part and stared at the napkin she was twisting in her hands.

He sighed and cradled his teacup between his hands, staring at the steam that rose from the warm liquid.

She continued, "I'm sorry, Alister. I wish I returned your feelings. You're absolutely wonderful and any woman would be lucky to have you –"

"Except the one, I want," he exhaled as he leaned back in his chair and looked into her eyes. She saw heartache reflected in his, but something else was present too. He let out a small chuckle before beginning, "I've never said it before, but I've loved you since the day I met you, Hermione."

She felt her heart twisting and she swallowed visibly at this statement. Thankfully, he continued before making the pause unbearable. "But I didn't become a successful businessman by neglecting my investments," he noted with a small smile.

She tilted her head and furrowed her brows slightly before he continued, "You are an amazing witch, Hermione, and an even more incredible woman. You are wonderful at many things, but you are absolutely horrible at hiding your feelings," he concluded matter-of-factually.

She gasped somewhat indignantly, and a laugh rumbled up from his chest. "Well, you are!" he asserted humorously. His tone sobered some as he continued, "Although you have never treated me unkindly, I read the signs. I had a suspicion that we wouldn't last."

Hermione was puzzled. "Then, why haven't you said something?" she asked softly.

He smiled sadly as he looked into his tea. "Hope," he offered. "I was hoping time would change your mind." He looked at her before continuing, "It wasn't until the other night at your flat that I realized it won't."

Her eyes went wide and she could feel the blood creeping up her neck, staining her skin.

He chuckled again, "I told you that you were horrible at hiding your feelings." He leaned toward her, resting his elbows on the table and gently pulling her hands into his. "Listen, I have always known that there is something unresolved between you and Ron Weasley. In the many months that I've known you, his name renders you nearly speechless each time it is spoken."

He chuckled again before continuing, "I don't think there is anything, and I mean anything, that I have encountered during my life that could have such a remarkable effect on Hermione Granger, quite possibly, the most outspoken woman I have ever met."

She felt warmth spreading across her cheeks. Suddenly, she felt the need to tell him that nothing had ever happened between she and Ron. She felt compelled to explain that she was just confused by his homecoming and was acting irrationally. Maybe this wasn't what she wanted after all. When she opened her mouth to assert her thoughts, he cut her short.

"Shhhhh. Hermione, as I've already told you, I've loved you for a long time. The months we've shared have been some of the happiest of my life." Her eyes filled with unshed tears as he continued, "But I know that this needs to happen. I know that you need to resolve some things in your past before you can move forward. I want you to be happy and I know, at least at present, I am not the one that can bring you happiness." He paused briefly before continuing, "Savvy investors know when to cut their losses," he concluded with a sigh and a wistful smile.

His professions were eating away at her heart. How could such a wonderful man still care so much for her when she was obviously breaking his heart? She eased out of her chair and took the necessary steps to reach him. He rose from the table and opened his arms to receive her.

Hermione held Alister tightly, fearful that letting him go meant letting go of all that was safe and secure.

"Take care, love," he whispered into her hair. "I will always be here for you."

By the end of the day she was physically and emotionally drained. Her fitful sleep the night before coupled with the huge emotional hurtle she had overcome were taking a serious toll on her nerves. She Apparated into the apartment to find it empty and thanked Merlin that Ginny often spent evenings at Harry's flat when he was in London. She couldn't bear the thought of feigning chit-chat with her flat mate or, alternatively, trying to explain the dramatic events of the day.

After easing out of her coat and depositing her bags in the living area, Hermione proceeded directly to her bedroom without turning on any of the lights in the flat. Although there was much she could be doing to help Ginny prepare for Ron's arrival, there was no way she would be anything more than useless if she didn't have a few brief hours of sleep.


	3. Three

So much had happened in the last several days leading up to this very moment. Here they were, standing in a dilapidated industrial district waiting for Ron to return via Portkey. Hermione pulled her coat more tightly around her, but the light mist that was falling and the chill of the spring air wasn't all that contributed to her discomfort. Her stomach was in knots.

Hermione glanced to her right to see Ginny leaning on Harry's shoulder. While she couldn't make out his words, she heard Harry whispering soft reassurances into her hair. In response, Ginny nuzzled his shoulder and smiled that ever-Weasley grin. Certainly, Ginny and Harry were excited. However, Hermione suspected that her friends were almost as anxious as she was. Ron's absence had left a large void in their lives. Now, she wondered whether his return alone was enough to fill it.

She wouldn't need to wait long to find out.

He appeared as rapidly as her thoughts were racing.

Ron. A tall, well built figure standing in the twilight with a large duffel bag thrown over his shoulder. For an instant, all was still. Then, with a childlike squeal, Ginny rushed forward and jumped into his arms. The arriver hardly had time to drop his bag down to the ground before wrapping his arms around the woman hurtling toward him.

"Hi, Gin," he responded to her greeting as he lifted her off the ground in a tight hug.

Hermione looked to her left at the shattered windows of an abandoned warehouse, a little overwhelmed with the scene before her. She heard Ginny sniffle and quietly utter something to her brother in voice laced with thick emotion. Hermione returned her attention to the reunion and watched as Ron lowered Ginny to the ground.

Ginny's eyes were moist, but they were twinkling with happiness. Once on the ground, she wiped her wet cheeks with the sleeve of her jacket. Almost as an afterthought, she reared back and slugged her brother on the shoulder. "And don't you ever stay away for so long again!" she sputtered humorously.

Her actions solicited a sharp chuckle from Harry. "You've got one coming from me too, mate," Harry added as he moved toward Ron. He chummily slugged Ron in the shoulder before wrapping his arms around him.

"Easy Potter," Ron retorted lightly. "If anything, as Ginny's big brother, I owe you a few." Ron clapped Harry on the back before the two stepped apart.

His smile faltered as he turned to his last greeter with an unreadable expression. "Hello, Hermione," he greeted, simply.

"Hello, Ron," she said more softly than she would have liked. "Welcome home."

She waited for him to make the first move. He didn't. He simply continued to look at her with his cryptic gaze.

No hug. No handshake. No movement. No gesture. The awkwardness of a few brief seconds overwhelmed her. It was a greeting suitable for a social acquaintance – not close friend. _Nor any friend, _she remarked inwardly.

_So this is how it is going to be._

Ginny relieved the unapparent tension by announcing their departure, "Let's get going, then." She waved toward the direction of the city. "Ron, you'll be happy to know I have a huge feast planned for tonight in your honor."

"Brilliant, Gin," Ron responded as he hauled his navy duffle bag over his shoulder and friendly conversation resumed around them.

To proud to show how he'd hurt her, Hermione trailed behind the group and wondered if things were ever be the same.

Following their departure from the Portkey, Harry, Ron and Hermione enjoyed afternoon tea in the living area of Harry's flat. Ginny had elected to head to the market to pick out a few last minute ingredients while the trio returned to Harry's dwelling.

Their surroundings represented the pinnacle of bachelor living. The walls of Harry's flat were painted a deep blue and his furniture, although mismatched, was constructed of rich wood and adorned with upholstery in varying shades of deep, earthy colors. Ever efficient - or too lazy to pick out grown-up furniture, as Ginny often remarked - Harry used his trunk as a coffee table for the living area which they were seated around.

Harry was very animatedly describing his latest recreational-league Quidditch tactics for Ron. Ron chuckled while he listened while his friend elaborately explained his stratagem and added his own thoughts on their feasibility. The two agreed to call a few of the Weasley brothers into London and round up few other friends living locally for a pick-up match on Saturday.

"Well, mate, maybe you'd like a nap before dinner," Harry opined. "I'm going to make sure the spare room is ready for you. It's been so long since I've had a guest sleep in there, the mess might put that of Grimmauld Place to shame."

"That's interesting, Harry," Ron commented as he glanced over his shoulder toward the back of the apartment. "I was quite sure Ginny stayed in the guest room when she visited."

Realizing his error before Ron had completed his first sentence, Harry began whistling a rather obnoxious tune and hustled toward the back of the flat as Ron fired a pillow from the couch in his general direction. Hermione and Ron heard the guestroom door slam an instant before they heard the soft plop of the pillow against it. With a look of smug content, Ron returned his focus to his tea.

It was the first few moments they had shared alone in ages.

"How are you?" Hermione asked quietly. Seeing him and hearing his voice this afternoon had been equally wonderful and painful.

"Alright," he paused before continuing, "South America has been a learning experience, but I'm holding my own," he replied with a nod and a polite, but small, smile.

It was the first time he had initiated conversation about his absence. On the way home from the Portkey, his friends asked him how his trip was and each was surprised by Ron's reluctance to discuss it. Taking his hints, no one had broached the subject further.

_A learning experience . . .,_ she reflected on his words. _To say the least, _she thought as she took a moment to take him in. Physically, Ron had hardened considerably. Hermione didn't doubt he was leading a rather rustic life in the jungles of Bolivia. She was also quite sure Weasley-caliber meals weren't finding their way to his dinner table. Emotionally . . . well, she wasn't sure what to think. Fiery, short-tempered, mischievous Ron was no where to be found.

"Are you happy?," she asked before realizing how significant a question it was.

_What am I asking him?_, she wondered. Was she asking him if he liked South America? Was she asking him if he was glad to be in England? Was she asking him if he was happy to see Harry? Was she asking him if he thought about her over the past months as often as she thought of him?

He paused a few moments before answering. _Maybe he's not sure what I'm asking either._ Finally, he answered in a tone that gave away nothing. "Relatively," he said. "How are you?," he politely asked after another pause.

"I'm well," she paused. He didn't respond. When the silence grew uncomfortable, she filled it with chatter. "Business is good, I'm actually thinking about finding someone to bring into the practice. The workload is getting a little overwhelming, even for me. The Center is running sm ---

"And Alister?," he asked, not looking at her but instead at the bookshelf filled with school books, Auror texts and several pictures of she, Harry and Ron as students.

She paused before answering, "Well . . . Alister is . . . he's fine." She didn't want to waste the precious few minutes they had alone recapping the recent upheavals in her love life.

Silence filled the room as Hermione contemplated her lame answer. After a long pause, he looked into her eyes and asked, "Are you happy?"

_Happy?_ she asked herself as she looked down at the tassel of a pillow she was fiddling with. She was insulted by his question. _My best friend disappeared from my life for nearly a year without an acceptable explanation. Everything has changed between us and he wants to know if I'm happy?_ She was angry and hurt by his question. Of course she wasn't happy. She missed him so much. She hated him for leaving. Her stubbornness got the better of her. She wasn't going to crawl on her knees and beg him to make things go back to the way they were, nor would she give him the pleasure of a good row. If he wanted them to stay as they are, she wasn't going to ruin his thick plans. She lifted her chin a notch and pursed her lips before answering. "Yes," she met his eyes, "I'm happy."

"Right, then," he uttered. Something unidentifiable flashed in his eyes before they dulled; he maintained an unreadable expression. "I'm going to see if Harry needs help with anything." He stood and looked down at her before turning toward the hall, almost as if he was giving her the opportunity to retract her last statement or willing himself to say something. Nothing was said. He turned and walked out of the room.

She wanted to stop him. She wanted to scream at him for being such an ass. She wanted to plead with him to take their friendship back a few years to a time when there wasn't an unnamed wall standing between them.

Instead, she watched him go.

Three weeks had flown by since Ron's arrival home.

Hermione had fallen into her weekly routine. She immersed herself in work each day, wiling her thoughts to drift away from Ron. However, this was nearly impossible. She spent nearly every evening with Ginny, Harry and Ron.

Ginny had been working diligently to return the quartet to the status quo. They had gone out together almost four times each week Ron had been home. Hermione had yet to have a decent conversation with Ginny explaining how things between she and Alister had ended, let alone a few hours to sit back and contemplate it herself. Ginny knew only that, at the moment, things between Alister and Hermione were very complicated.

Although Ron had softened up some, he was still considerably cold to Hermione. She was convinced he was treating her nicely only for the benefit of the group. He avoided all situations that would lead to spending time alone with her. He made polite small talk, but never initiated any kind of substantive conversation. He looked at her but wouldn't touch her. He hadn't so much as accidentally brushed against her since he had arrived.

And, oh, how this irritated her. Her body seemed to prickle and warm whenever he was nearby. It wasn't necessarily a pleasant tingle, as much as it was an aggravating physical response triggered by his presence. She wanted to touch him, although she wasn't quite sure if she wanted to run into his open arms or run at him with her own flailing. His behavior was driving her to her boiling point.


	4. Four

As the forth week approached, Ginny informed Harry, Ron and Hermione that she was required to attend a gallery show for one of her anthropology courses. In the spirit of total togetherness, Ginny invited them to attend. Fearful that her brother would depart again for countless months, Ginny's invitations operated more like marching orders. Rather than upsetting her, Harry, Ron and Hermione elected to attend.

On the night of the art gala, Harry and Ron arrived at the ladies' flat surprisingly early. Harry announced their arrival stressing the timeliness of it. She overheard Ginny's request that they help themselves to something to drink while she and Hermione finished getting ready.

Hermione desperately wanted to beg off the evening's event. She was tired from work and had nearly reached her limits with Ron. She wasn't sure she could stand anymore of his distant behavior, especially tonight. However, knowing that it would please her flatmate immensely, Hermione decided to buck up and attempt to enjoy the evening . . . if not the company, than the art.

She took one last look in the mirror before heading into the lion's den. Her black dress, although somewhat plain, was classic. She had debated extensively before buying the dress many months ago, but Ginny insisted that every women deserved to own a dress that did her figure such divine justice. Giggling hysterically at her salesmanship, Hermione purchased it even though she knew she wasn't likely to have a proper occasion to wear it.

That is, until this afternoon, when Ginny bounded into her room and unearthed the dress, tags and all, from the bowels of her closet. After extensive lobbying from Ginny, Hermione reluctantly agreed to wear it to the gala. The dress had thin straps that rested delicately on her shoulders. A little daring for her tastes, the neckline dipped low on her chest exposing her throat the swell of her breasts by forming a low v. The dress flattered her trim waist and the curve of her hips by fitting closely and flared toward the bottom where the hem finally hit just below her knees.

_Here we go,_ she mentally prepped as she adjusted a few of the curls that strayed from the pile on top of her head. _Remember, you are doing this for Ginny. Mind your manners, Ms. Granger._

"Hermione, are you almost ready?" Harry called from down the hall.

"Yes, I'm ready," she responded as she grabbed her handbag from her dresser and headed out of her bedroom into the hall. As she approached the living area, she noticed Harry helping Ginny with her wrap and Ron leaning on the back of the couch holding a highball glass of firewhiskey. Harry wore black slacks and a black blazer with a burgundy colored button-up shirt. Burgundy wasn't the most flattering color for him, but it was apparent he had made an effort to coordinate with his date. Hermione smiled inwardly at his romantic attempt. Ron was wearing charcoal-colored slacks and a fitted black sweater made of a very fine material. Had she not been so angry at him for behaving like a prat, she would have allowed herself to acknowledge that he looked fantastic.

"I told you that dress was divine, didn't I Hermione?" asked Ginny, whose terracotta colored dress made her absolutely glow. She winked at Hermione as she strode into the kitchen to grab the gala tickets.

"You do look lovely, Hermione," Harry added as he approached her with her evening jacket.

"Thank you, Harry," Hermione said as she eased into her jacket with Harry's assistance.

"We're lucky blokes, Ron," Harry commented. "We've got the two most gorgeous women in London in tow tonight."

"Right," Ron responded. Harry didn't seem to pick up on the sarcastic undertone, but it didn't get past Hermione. She lifted her gaze to Ron and found him staring at her. His eyes could've burned a hole right through her. Their gazes locked for what felt like minutes. Ron averted his eyes only when Ginny chirped from the kitchen that they should be going. He swiftly downed the contents of the glass in his hand and seized his wool coat from the couch before leading the quartet out the door and into the evening air.

_Mind your manners, _Hermione forcefully reminded herself. _This is going to be a long night._

Hermione was pleasantly surprised by the art gala. It was held in a gallery in one of London's up-and-coming-but-not-quite-there districts. It was a three story building, with open second and third floors that looked down on the main gallery. The works of several Muggle artists were on display, apparently being auctioned for the benefit of a popular local charity.

Ginny warned them previously that she was required to circulate with some of her fellow students and several of the department members for a small part of the evening. After checking her wrap and assisting her friends in locating the small, but well stocked bar on the main floor, she began her rounds. Harry, Ron and Hermione each ordered a drink before walking around to admire the works on display.

Hermione quickly realized that she didn't have much of an appreciation for art. Ginny had referred to the event as contemporary, but Hermione thought bizarre might be a better adjective. To Hermione, each piece looked more like a compilation of miscellaneous pieces of rubbish strewn together and affixed to a flat surface. After contemplating a particularly peculiar piece, Hermione decided she might need another glass of wine before proceeding to the next. Seeing that Harry and Ron had already drifted into the next room, she set off for the bar on her own. She ordered another Merlot and elected to continue her search for more sensible art on the second floor.

Unfortunately, she didn't have much more luck. The pieces displayed on the second floor were about as strange as those on the first. Hermione resigned her hunt for conventional art and decided to try and find the most novel work on display. She wandered from room to room until finally she had wound her way back into the second floor foyer that looked down on to the main gallery. Deciding that people-watching might prove more interesting than art admiring, she approached the balcony leaned against the railing to survey the crowd below. She stood there for a few minutes before she felt a soft hand brush her bare shoulder.

"Hermione?" a familiar voice queried.

Hermione turned around to a face she hadn't seen in weeks, that of Alister McGaff. His eyes lit up upon meeting hers. "I thought that might be you," he said while smiling.

"Hello Alister," Hermione greeted politely, slightly breathless. She was momentarily surprised to see him, but quickly remembered that he often enjoyed circulating with the cultured crowd.

"What brings you here?" he asked conversationally as he leaned on the railing next to her.

A little overwhelmed by the casualness of his demeanor, she stuttered a little in response. "I . . . er, we're here with Ginny," she lamely offered. "One of her professors required her to attend. We decided to tag along."

"We?" Alister asked.

"Yes. Harry and Ron . . . and I," she responded. _Merlin, I sound so stupid,_ she chastised herself. While she had nothing to hide from Alister, she certainly didn't want to hurt his feelings any more than she already had.

"I see," Alister said, his smile fading. His expression had turned more serious, but retained its warmth. "And how everything going for you?" he asked sincerely.

"Everything is going well," she heard the falseness ringing in her voice and knew he recognized it too. She feigned a smile, knowing that he could see through it. Giving up, she looked down into her nearly empty wineglass. _What is wrong with me? Why, suddenly, do I feel the need to have an emotional breakdown in front of my ex-boyfriend?_ she screamed inwardly.

Sensing her inner distress, Alister took a step closer to Hermione. He reached out and cupped her check with his hand and lifted her face to meet his gaze. "Hermione," he said softly. "Time takes care of everything. And remember, I am always here when you need me," he offered sincerely.

Hermione nodded at this, unable to respond for fear that the emotions welling up inside of her would pour out. She met Alister's eyes and, for the millionth time since meeting him, acknowledged what a wonderful man he was and how lucky any woman would be to have him.

He smiled at her softly and leaned in to brush his lips softly against her cheek. "I'll see you," he whispered into her hair. When he pulled away, she whispered a soft thanks before she watched him make his way into the adjoining room.

_What an evening,_ she huffed. Running into Alister had only confirmed her doubts about coming out tonight.

When she returned her focus to the main floor below, her gaze found her three friends conversing around another peculiar piece of art. Rather, Harry and Ginny were conversing. Ron was staring directly at her. His eyes were blazing, but his expression was unreadable. When her gaze met his, he took a long sip of his glass of firewhiskey before breaking eye contact and focusing on the strange artwork in front of him.

Hermione descended the stairs to join her friends, already annoyed with Ron's mood. She decided that one last glass of wine wouldn't be inappropriate, so she wove her way to the bar before meeting up with the group near the center of the room. As she ordered from the bartender, someone approached the bar behind her and set a glass town to her right.

Hermione turned around to face Ron, whose unreadable expression had turned into an icy mask. He nodded at the bartender, indicating that he wanted another drink. Only when his order had been received, did he turn his attention to Hermione. "Having fun, are you?" he asked in an ugly tone. When her only response was a puzzled stare, he continued. "This gala has proven to be much more interesting than I thought. So much to see . . . so much to watch," he leered.

Hermione felt her face redden, knowing that Ron had witnessed the private moments she shared with Alister. His horrible behavior had nearly driven her to melt in the arms of her former boyfriend, and Ron had all but witnessed her crumble. She was overwhelmed by his bold remarks and by how indignant they made her feel. She opened her mouth to retort, but the look of disgust that crept onto his face rendered her momentarily speechless.

"Don't bother," he remarked snidely. The bartender had returned with a full tumber, which Ron accepted and tipped back in a single swallow. He turned away from Hermione and walked toward his smiling sister and best mate. Hermione watched as Ron spoke to them briefly before heading toward the front door of the gallery. He ran a hand through his copper hair as he headed through the archway and into the night.

Hermione approached her friends, seething in confused anger. The look on Harry's face registered uncertainty, the look on Ginny's momentarily revealed hurt.

"Do you want to go, love?" Harry asked Ginny sweetly. Ginny smiled at his offer.

"I need to stay," responded Ginny as she looked between Hermione and Harry. "Besides, Ron is just sour. There is no sense letting him ruin the evening." She added, "You two can leave if you want, I know this is a bit of a bore. I need to talk to a few more of my professors before I head home."

"I'll stay with you," offered Harry as grasped her elbow softly and smiled.

The touching moment temporarily curbed Hermione's rage. She was angry at Ron, but unlike Ron, knew it was unfair to make her friends suffer because of it. Unlike Ron, she would tough it out.

"I'll stay and keep you company while Ginny makes her rounds," Hermione offered to Harry.

She knew she made the right choice when Ginny beamed at her in thanks and Harry visibly relaxed.

_But this is the last straw._

As a reward to herself for minding her manners, Ms. Granger was prepping for battle.


	5. Five

Done.

She had walked around for an hour in the streets of London after she, Harry and Ginny left the gala. She was contemplating what her course of action would be, but only one thought ricocheted in her head: she was finished with it.

Clouds drifted overhead and it started to sprinkle. She took several shortcuts through alleys and street arcades while working through her rage. _Time takes care of everything,_ she repeated Alister's sympathetic reassurances in her mind. She marched faster though the streets.

By the time rain was falling heavily, she was through with all of it. If he was going to treat her like dirt, she had nothing to lose by giving him a piece of her mind one final time. _To Hades with time._

Without even realizing how quickly she'd gotten there, she pounded on the door of Harry's flat. The rain was coming down in torrents now. Her hair and clothes were soaked, but her rage was keeping her immune to the chilly air. It took a few moments, but when it opened, the door was practically thrown back from its hinges.

She had prepped herself to be ready for anything: an empty flat, Harry and Ron in the middle of a card game . . . anything. As over-analyzers often do, she had developed strategies for each possible scenario. No matter what, she had convinced herself that this argument would happen immediately, on her terms, before he could catch her off guard and before she could become hysterical.

All the preparation was for naught. Nothing could have readied her to face what awaited her beyond the front door. Ron was barefoot, wearing a pair of tattered jeans that sat low on his hips. Her eyes traveled up his shirtless chest to meet his icy eyes. He took one look at her from head to toe and let his eyes drag back up again to meet hers. He smirked and dramatically extended his left arm to his side in a mocking invitation into the flat.

As she marched in to the living area, she berated herself for becoming distracted at the sight of him without a shirt. By the time she had shucked off her evening coat and thrown it into a corner, she was back in battle mode.

"Just what is going on with you, Ron?" she shouted.

By this time, he had forcefully swung the door shut and sauntered back into the living room. He sat down on the couch, where it appeared he had been sitting prior to her unexpected arrival. He took a long pull directly from the bottle of firewhiskey that had been sitting on the trunk in front of him and stared into the fireplace blazing before him before answering.

His voice was cold, calm and indifferent. "Hermione, you'll have to be more specific, I don't know exactly what it is you are going on about." He took another swig of firewhiskey before continuing, "But, be warned, I am in a nasty mood and you'll do well to save this row for another night."

"Yes, you made your mood clear at the gallery," she commented snidely. Hermione cursed the Auror training that had cooled his raging temper and taught him the hostile stand-off tactics he was employing now. This wasn't the Ron she remembered arguing with years ago - and that only made her more angry.

When he didn't take the bait, she launched into him, "Don't patronize me. You know exactly what I'm talking about and I'm sick of it. You started this hours - if not weeks - ago! You have been acting like a complete git since you came home from Bolivia. I am through with it, Ron. You either get whatever it is off your chest or you can forget about our friendship."

"Friendship?," Ron sneered from his seat on the couch, his eyes remaining locked on the fire. "If you consider our relationship over the past year a friendship Hermione, you are sadly mistaken. We haven't been friends for quite some time." He took another pull of the bottle in his hand.

His words stung her. She was so angry she could hardly hear anything above the roaring in her ears. "Well, I guess we agree on something after all, Ronald Weasley. That is exactly why I am here. You have made the decision to end this friendship, without the courtesy to tell me why. I have been throwing myself out there trying to get to the bottom of whatever issue you're dealing with since you returned home. I have been nothing but a good friend to you, and you have treated me like absolute rubbish."

He was off the couch like a shot, taking the three strides that separated them before she realized it. He was standing close to her now, so close she had to tilt her head back uncomfortably to meet his eyes.

When he spoke, she could smell the faintly sweet aroma of firewhiskey on his breath. She mentally calculated that he had been drinking for quite some time. "A good friend, eh? Let me repeat this for you, Hermione. You stopped being my friend a long time ago."

She blinked and furrowed her brow in confusion. This was the explanation she had been waiting months for.

He continued, "You may not remember, so let me remind you. It was the night of Ginny's last birthday party. The night you dared me to stay on the dance floor with you. Sound vaguely familiar?"

Apparently, he concluded from her questioning look that she didn't see where he was going.

"Perhaps I should give you a more detailed account," he continued. His tone turned darker and he leaned even closer to her. "It was the night you ground your hot little ass against me, making me delirious. It was the night you writhed your body against mine just as if we were fucking. Remember now?"

Chills went down her spine and blood rushed through her veins. Before she realized it, he had swung and arm behind her waist to pull her against him before leaning in to whisper hotly in her ear. "It was the night you first gave me this," he ground himself against her middle and what pressed into her stomach was rock hard, "and believe me because I've tried plenty, but I haven't been able to get rid of it since." He abruptly let her go and stalked over to the couch and returned to his seat, taking another swig from the brown bottle.

Hermione was momentarily speechless. Her mouth was agape, but she couldn't find the words to express how outraged she was by his crude attempt to derail her. As she felt the blood boiling in her veins, she realized her verbal sparring abilities were not long lost.

She took a few steps toward the couch before lashing into him, "How dare you say those things to me? How dare you bring up that night as if I was some cheap tavern slag? That wasn't how things happened and you know it! Even so, you have no right to treat me the way you've been treating me for the past several months!"

"Oh, really," Ron leered. Once again, he stretched to his full height directly in front of her. "Perhaps I'll take you on another little walk down memory lane, Hermione," he drawled her name, which only infuriated her more. "You were doing more than dancing that night, and you knew it. You know it even now. But the next day -bloody hell, the next month - you practically disappeared. You didn't return any of my owls and you were never home when I visited. You avoided me like the plague. You dragged our relationship across the friendship line and when you decided you'd had enough, you didn't have the decency to bring it back properly. As usual, smart-safe Hermione thinks better of getting caught up in something a little reckless. "

Ron paused before continuing, it appeared he had an epiphany, "Merlin, I should have seen it coming. First Viktor, then that Ravenclaw in 6th year. There's definitely a pattern here. You have your fun, but get scared that you're actions are too improper, or worse - too personal. Ha! I can't believe I never put this together before! No, I wouldn't call what you were doing that night dancing at all. I'd call it teasing. You get men right where you want them and drop them before they know what's hit them, all without having to cross any intimate lines. Merlin forbid a man gets close to Hermione Jane Granger, tainting the picture of perfection! It's really a miracle Alister hasn't caught on to this yet. What's going on with you two anyway? I saw him touching you and whispering in your ear tonight. Are you stringing him along like you have the rest of us? Is that why your relationship with him as recently become so 'complicated'? Or is he content to play your coy little games until you're ready to stop, just hoping for the chance -

'CRACK.'

The palm of her hand stung like a thousand needles were being driven through it.

Ron brought his hand up to access the damage her palm had caused the right side of his face. He grabbed the wrist of the assaulting hand and pulled it up from her side and brought it between them. He took the 1/2 step that completely closed the distance between them started deep into her eyes before saying, "I wouldn't do that again."

"You're an ass," she muttered, struggling to gain control of the situation and hoping her use of harsh words would convey the intensity of her anger. "And you're drunk."

His icy eyes were boring into her as he spoke, "You are one hundred percent correct, Hermione. I am, most certainly, an ass. And I may even be a bit drunk, otherwise I'd be stupid to do something I've been thinking about for far too long."

His lips were sealed over hers before she had a moment to register his intentions. Ron dropped her wrist and secured one arm tightly around her waist while snaking the other up her back and winding his fingers through her unruly hair that had fallen in the rain. He pulled her tightly toward him. She opened her mouth to protest, but he only used the opportunity to drive his tongue into her mouth. His kiss was rough; he offered nothing and took everything

When he finally pulled his head back, they were both breathing heavily. Their chests were rising and falling; their bodies still pressed together as he had not yet let her go. Hermione's mind was blank. She could feel his breath on her face. She couldn't take her eyes of his lips. She tried in vain to cling to the anger she had arrived with only a few minutes ago, but her thoughts were on nothing but Ron's bruising kiss and the sweet taste of firewhiskey he had left on her lips. Subconsciously she traced her tongue across her bottom lip.

A strange noise emitted from deep within Ron's chest and before she knew it, his mouth was on hers once more. His tongue found its way past her lips again, but this kiss was different. It lacked none of the aggressiveness of the last kiss, but the blatant hostility was replaced with something else; something not quite as brutal, but just as needful and possessive.

Ron used the hand he had buried in her curls to tilt her head and deepen the kiss. The arm he had wound around her waist pulled her more tightly against him. Her open palms landed on his hard chest as she steadied herself against him, but she didn't use this leverage to push herself out of his embrace.

_What am I doing?_ she wondered, but it was both the beginning and the end of any definitive thoughts. His mouth had trailed from her lips to the side of her face and down to her neck. A soft moan escaped her lips as he pressed hot kisses on the pulse point below her ear. Involuntarily, one of her hands found its way to his hair. She sank her fingers into his copper waves. His lips returned to hers and found them both waiting and wanting and she returned his kiss zealously. His lips were every bit as full and soft as she'd always imagined them to be.

She had never felt this way before. She was so incredibly angry at him and yet, no one had ever kissed her like he was kissing her; no one had ever made her feel the things she was feeling. She had no control over the way her body was responding to him. Her actions were instinctual and she was driven by a fire she could feel burning in her core. She wanted to believe it was anger burning inside of her, but each stroke of Ron's tongue against hers added to her growing suspicion that it wasn't.

Once more, his lips left hers to trail kisses along her neck. He unwound his hand from her hair and ran it down the length of her back. She seized the opportunity to speak. "I hate you for the way you've treated me; for the things you said to me tonight," she said as her head tilted back giving him more access to the soft skin of her neck.

"Then tell me to stop," he ground out as she felt his hand run along the outside of her thigh, roughly but seductively kneading the fabric of her dress with his fingertips. He pulled back to stare into her eyes, his brilliant blues clouded with desire. "Or is it possible that Ms. Hermione Granger wants something a little reckless? A little less than perfect?" he said before slanting his mouth over hers once more.

Inwardly, she called him every dirty name in the book. He was making her weak with his kisses, but he was still able to incense her with his words. Even during their worst rows, he never said the kinds of things he was saying to her tonight. She wanted to tell him to stop. She wanted to walk out of the flat and never look back. As she felt his hands slip the thin straps of her dress off of her shoulders, she realized she wouldn't.

Hermione was lying on the soft sheets of Harry's guest room bed. Ron was poised above her; their discarded clothing littered the bedroom floor.

He sought entrance to her body, but encountered an unexpected resistance. Ron looked into her eyes, obviously unable to mask the look of surprise that befell his features.

"I'm not a tease," she whispered with a look of stubborn conviction on her face. She wasn't the things he said she was and she wanted him to know it. But her stubbornness was belied by a single tear that escaped from her left eye and trickled slowly to the pillow.

"Oh, Mione," Ron strangled out before bringing his arms tightly around her and burying his face in her hair. "I'm sorry for the things I said earlier," he whispered. "You're not a tease. I had no right to say that. I wanted you so badly that night and I was so angry with you for pushing me away."

It was the first sign of the old Ron she had seen since he had returned. This was the man she remembered; her lionhearted protector, her dearest friend.

After a quiet moment, he moved to pull away from her but she held him fast. He looked into her eyes inquiringly.

"Ron," she pleaded softly, " . . . please."

Ron emitted a low sound from deep within this chest. It sounded of heartache and desire. "I don't want to hurt you," he ground out. She inferred from his eyes, the icy sharpness of which had been replaced by a brilliant blaze, that his statement had more than one meaning.

She looked up at him and found his eyes roaming down the body underneath his with a look of conflicted hunger. When his gaze finally returned to her eyes, she whispered again, "Please, Ron."

His resolve deteriorated. She watched as his muscles tightened and he braced himself with his arms on either side of her. He kissed her sweetly on the forehead before looking down on her once more. "I'm sorry for this," he whispered before closing his eyes and rolling his lips inward. He pulled away from her body for an instant before she felt him drive into her.

The sensations were indescribable. She felt as if she was coming apart and coming together all at once. His intrusion was painful, but it almost seemed to satisfy the ache burning deep within her. He held still as she tried to force herself to relax and accommodate him. After a few moments, she shifted underneath him. Only then did she realize how rigidly he was holding his body in check. "Ron?" she asked softly.

"Just hold still, Mione. You're so bloody tight –," he uttered through gritted teeth.

A few more moments passed and the tension in his muscles eased somewhat. He kissed her on the forehead once more before slowly withdrawing from her briefly and sinking back in. His pace was slow and deliberate. It was if he was trying not to hurt her but ensuring that she felt every inch of him moving inside of her.

"You feel . . . unbelievable," Ron sighed as he increased the speed of his thrusts.

Hermione was overwhelmed by the delicious friction their bodies were creating. She moved her hands from Ron's shoulders to his sides. She pressed her fingertips into his warm skin and pulled his body closer, urging him to move faster. She lifted her head to nuzzle his neck and kiss the soft skin beneath his ear. He rotated his hips in response and she gasped his name softly.

"This won't last much longer . . . you shouldn't feel this good. Nothing should feel this good." Ron confessed with his eyes tightly closed.

Hermione trailed her lips over the freckles that adorned his shoulder and instinctively settled her legs higher against his hips. Ron cursed as he sank deeper into her. "Hermione . . . I . . . I can't . . .," he moaned.

"Don't . . .," she sighed, "don't hold back."

This was all the encouragement he needed. He pulled his body away from hers and pushed himself up by straightening his elbows. He drove into her as deeply as he could before pulling back for another stroke.

Her fingernails dug into his sides as her eyes squeezed tightly shut, lost somewhere near ecstasy.

"Open your eyes 'Mione," he commanded. "Look at me," he ordered as he continued to plunge into her.

Her eyes met the burning blue of his. Sweat was causing the copper hair closest to his face to curl and tiny droplets beaded on his forehead. His expression was enough to take her breath. His eyes reflected primal need and a possessiveness that was almost animalistic. She gasped as she felt him drive deeper than she would have thought possible. That was all it took. She felt Ron's muscles tighten.

"Mine . . ." she heard him moan, believing it an incoherent attempt at her pet name.

His eyes lost their intent focus on hers as they drifted closed. His thrusts lost their rhythm and she felt him pulsing warmly inside of her. He took several deep breaths as he lowered himself on to his elbows, remaining on top of her. Neither said anything as they regained their senses. Hermione listened to the rain falling outside and the fading sound of thunder.

Ron eased onto his side. As he shifted, he cupped her cheek with his hand and drew her in for a sweet kiss. When he drew away, he looked into her eyes. His were a dark, murky blue. She could easily get lost trying to find their meaning.

Hermione quickly concluded that words were unnecessary. Neither wanted to cloud what had just transpired with a discussion about its reasons or consequences. He told her this with his eyes, and she smiled softly at him in agreement. For once, Hermione's incessant need to analyze was dormant.

She let Ron pull her into his arms and she drifted to sleep to the sound of his heartbeat.


	6. Six

"You're not asleep," she stated quietly. She wasn't sure what woke her, perhaps it had been the steady rhythm of rain on the pavement outside. As she stirred, she could tell immediately by his breathing that he was awake.

"'Lot on my mind," he replied. His tone was low and raspy with fatigue.

It was still dark out. She guessed they were somewhere amid the hours that could neither be defined as day nor night.

She stirred and resettled her head on the arm he had curved around her so she could better see his face. It was faintly silhouetted against the dim light filtering through the drawn curtains created by the streetlights outside. He appeared to be focusing rather intently on the ceiling.

"This?" she asked, hoping he would understand her reference. She wasn't quite ready to label the evening with a convenient title and summary.

"Yeah. . .this," he answered. He drew her a little closer to him and his fingers began tracing circles across her lower back. His eyes remained fixed on the ceiling. "This really wasn't how I was expecting the night to end," he stated rather matter of factually.

_Stiff upper lip_, she ordered inwardly, not sure how to interpret his pathetically vague statement of the obvious. She prayed he wouldn't tell her that it had been a mistake. She prayed harder that, if he did, he would wait until the morning to say it. She wasn't ready for the night to be over. She wasn't ready for their relationship to regress to friendship . . . or less.

_How ironic,_ she mused mentally. She had marched her pretty little feet all through London to find a conclusive answer as to the status of their friendship. _And Merlin, have I failed miserably to find it._ After all that had happened, she might very well end up at square one. _Brilliant girl, Hermione. Bloody brilliant._

_Drastic measures seems to be the theme of the day_, she recognized inwardly. With that in mind, Hermione stepped out on a limb.

"Do you want. . .to talk about it?" she asked hesitantly, somewhat distracted by the chills his fingertips were eliciting.

He rolled on his side to face her. She tried in vain to meet his eyes, but the room was too dark to see much. He paused before he finally spoke, "No . . . but we need to." His eyes, she was sure, were full of regret.

She knew immediately where the conversation was headed. This was the conclusion of their affair, and perhaps any semblance of friendship. She willed herself to rise from the bed; to pick up her discarded clothing and leave with whatever dignity she had remaining intact. At least that way she wouldn't have to hear the words she was sure would break her heart.

Despite the commands her brain issued her body, she remained motionless on the bed. Some part of her was unwilling to accept that the evening, and all of its implications, was over. After a short pause and a sigh that suggested frustration, he initiated the conversation that she was sure might compete for the most awkward of her life.

"I've made a bloody mess out of this, Hermione," he confessed as he reached up and tentatively stroked her check with the pad of his thumb. A passing car illuminated the room briefly, and she could see traces apology in his eyes.

Her heart clenched tightly and she willed herself to continue to breathe normally.

He continued, "If you don't hate me for what I've done already," his eyes left hers to quickly trail down her body before returning to hers, "you'll surely hate me for what I'm about to say." His lips cinched tightly together in an ominous frown.

She looked at him curiously for a moment. He thought she was upset over the intimacy they shared? She reached out to stroke his chest before tenderly offering, "Ron, what are you talking about? I could never hate -"

"I'm leaving, Hermione," he stated firmly.

She sucked in her breath sharply, and snapped her outstretched hand back. "When?" she choked.

"In the morning. Hell, a few hours from now," he amended.

"I see," she responded, pathetically attempting to mask the sound of her heart being torn apart, hoping he believed her merely disappointed tone.

"I doubt you do," he said firmly, in a tone that almost bordered sarcasm.

His words ignited the sorrow pooling inside of her, converting it into something entirely different: anger. But it wasn't the kind of anger that led her to Harry's flat tonight, nor was it the kind of anger it took to finally confront Ron. This was the kind that she could feel spiraled deep inside of her, making her cold and cruel. She could feel her expression stoning over. She rolled away from him and eased her legs over the side of the bed, bringing herself to a sitting position.

"What are you doing?" he asked her curiously.

She didn't answer as she attempted to locate her clothing on the floor while keeping the sheet wrapped tightly around her.

She felt the bed creak with the shifting of his weight as he eased over to her.

"Hermione, we need to talk about this," his voice was firm, but it was a plea.

"I doubt we do," she responded grimly in an attempt to mimic him, forcing her voice to sound even. Why wouldn't he let her leave? Things would be easier for both of them if he would just let her go. How could he not know that she was on the verge of breaking into pieces?

"Listen to me, Hermione," he said as she continued to rifle through the clothing on the floor next to the bed. She located her dress and attempted to slip it over her head.

Ron snatched the offending bit of black material from her hands and tossed it across the room. He grabbed her arm and hauled her around to face him.

"Quit acting like this and listen to me for five bloody minutes!" he nearly roared.

She didn't respond. Rather, she met his gaze and crossed her arms in defiance. She titled her head, indicating that he had better use the next four minutes and fifty six seconds wisely.

"I," he stammered as be ran his fingers through his mussed hair, "I got the assignment right before you arrived."

She couldn't suppress a scoff. _This is supposed to make things better? _She nearly screamed at him. She had slept with him immediately before he left for parts unknown and she was supposed to be comforted by the fact he knew he was leaving all along? She literally bit her tongue to keep from lashing out at him.

"I asked for it, Hermione. I asked for the assignment tonight."

Anger and sorrow battled for dominance inside of her. How could this have happened this way? He asked for the assignment?

He reached out and placed his hands on her shoulders, she fought hard not to shake herself from his grasp and run away as fast as possible.

"Listen to me. I asked for it because seeing you and Alister at the gala made me insane with jealousy," he confessed. "And not the kind of adolescent 'best-friend' jealousy that I'm used to feeling . . . that I should have felt." He paused before adding quietly, "It was the kind of jealousy that made me feel like I couldn't breathe."

His hands fell from her shoulders and his stare focused on something in the distance behind her. He continued, "That's why I'm leaving. I can't breathe around you . . . knowing that you're with someone else."

Hermione shivered with realization. He was right; this was a mess. Nothing made sense, but, ironically, the pieces of their broken friendship were falling into place. "Is that why you went to Bolivia?" she asked after a brief epiphany.

"Yes," he admitted after a few quiet moments. She knew what it cost him to admit it and her anger dissipated following his candor.

"I'm not with Alister," she offered, knowing it wouldn't keep him from leaving. Auror assignments were not optional. Once they were given, short of fatal injury there was no way to withdraw. Yet, she wanted him to hear it anyway.

"No, not now," he acknowledged. "I know you wouldn't have. . . stayed with me last night. . . . ." He looked down at the comforter that partially covered him. The same comforter they made love on hours before. She hadn't realized she was lost in thought before he spoke. "Do you want to be?" he asked her hesitantly.

She gave him a puzzled expression.

He repeated his question, his tone raw with emotion. "Do you want to be with Alister, Hermione?"

She paused before answering, "No." His expression remained guarded.

The uncomfortable silence that separated them from the definition of their relationship was unbearable. Nearly driven to her wit's end by a limbo they had perpetuated for nearly a year, she finally concluded that she had nothing to lose by telling him everything. He would leave on assignment in a few short hours and she wouldn't see him for months . . . maybe years. If they parted ways at this moment, they would be no worse off if he knew the whole truth.

"I broke things off with Alister when I found out you were coming home," she admitted.

His lips parted and his expression was one of disbelief. "I always knew I didn't care for him the way he cared for me, but when Ginny first received your letter . . . that's when I realized it was time to end the charade." She paused before adding quietly, "Alister was just a distraction, Ron. It's you I've wanted all along."

His eyes widened briefly but his brows furrowed as he considered what she was saying. He peered up at her and asked, "I don't understand. All this time?"

"Since Hogwarts, I suppose," she reflected. "On some level, at least. It wasn't until Ginny's birthday that I knew."

He grimaced a little, probably remembering not only the evening they shared on the dance floor, but the weeks that followed. "You acted horribly," he stated simply.

She sighed. "I know. I'm sorry. I guess I wasn't ready. Your friendship was so important to me and I was so confused by how you made me feel." She hiccupped softly, trying to quell the tidal wave of emotions washing over her. "I was scared," she added softly. "You know me well enough to know I like to manage everything going on in my life. But you . . . you have never been something I can easily understand, let alone manage," she said as she smiled softly.

Her eyes dimmed as she reflected on the words that had torn into her hours earlier. "You were right about me, you know," she said softly. "At that point in my life, I couldn't imagine engaging in something so reckless. You and your wild temper, your spontaneous nature and your lust for life," she listed admirably, "these things were too much for prim and proper Hermione." She paused before adding "To me, you will always be reckless."

She continued to look at him as he lowered his eyes to his lap, obviously dejected by what he felt was an undesirable characterization.

"It's just taken me a little longer to realize . . . that reckless _is_ what I want," she concluded sadly, knowing their time together was short. "And I'll regret that everyday that you are gone, and everyday that I've shortened the life of this friendship by not telling you sooner."

His gaze shot up to meet hers. The silence between the cracked with anticipation.

His eyes remained unfocused, but she could see something was on the tip of his tongue. "Come with me," he pleaded softly; the vulnerability in his eyes apparent.

The several minute silence was deafening.

"Ron?" she asked, "You know I can't do that," she said. Her tone was firm, but she couldn't hide the questioning note that remained present in her voice. Had he gone insane?

"It's a relief effort," he said quickly. "No dark wizards. The assignment is to assist in piecing some of the villages involved in that rogue attack in Ukraine back together."

"That's . . . that's not the type of field work you usually do," she stated, wondering what relevance it had to the offer he had put on the table. Her thoughts were racing through her head at an alarming rate, she couldn't stay focused.

"No, it isn't. I asked for any assignment that would get me out of London as quickly as possible," he said. Her eyes shot up to meet his, the sincerity of his apology now clear. "I didn't know, Hermione. I'm sorry."

She nodded, still attempting to absorb the significance of the invitation he had made.

"It's a six week stint," he said. "Rebuilding homes, reinstating local government. . . reestablishing the community, essentially. There will be plenty to do; plenty of things for us to do," he amended.

She remained quiet. Was she actually considering accepting the invitation?

"Come with me." This time his plea was more firm, but just as desperate. It was almost as if he knew that her walls were starting to crumble.

"But . . . but, what about my work? My patients . . . the Center?" she listed. This was impossible. "I can't abandon everything and run away with you." She was attempting to convince herself as much as she was trying to convince him. Even as she said the words, she couldn't shake the nagging feeling in the back of her mind, the little voice that told her that she could make it work if she really wanted to.

"Hermione, I know what these things mean to you," he stated earnestly. "I acknowledge the seriousness of my asking you to leave and I'll understand your decision to stay. When I come home, we'll sort things out and see where we stand."

She didn't smile at his attempt to pacify her; to soothe her frazzled thoughts. In fact, she knew when she looked at him that she wasn't able to mask the misery the idea of waiting six more weeks was causing her.

She didn't say anything as tears welled in her eyes; she didn't need to. He reached for her, pulling her into his strong embrace. He eased them backwards on to the pillows of bed as she burrowed her face in his warm chest.

But for his fingertips stroking her shoulder, they were still for several minutes.

"I'm sorry, 'Mione," he whispered into her hair. "I know that neither coming with me nor staying here are perfect options; I'm so sorry they are all I have to offer."

The room was quiet as each collected their thoughts. _. . . a little less than perfect,_ she recalled the harsh comment made during the tumult that had led to this very moment.

She adjusted herself so that she could peer up at him. His eyes remained unfocused, directed somewhere near the ceiling. She considered him. His full lips and countless freckles; the fiery hair that stuck up at odd angles, never to be fully controlled.

She reflected on their friendship; their shared laughter and secrets, heavily peppered with dreadfully heated rows.

She thought about what she had to offer him. Regardless of how their relationship changed over the next six weeks, she would always care for him like she could care for no one else. She would always be his friend, his confidant and, if he wished it so, his lover. Despite all this, she would never spare him from her sharp critiques, her incessant nagging or her perpetually dispensed but frequently unwanted two-cents.

_Nothing is perfect,_ she conceded internally with all these thoughts racing through her mind. Several seconds paced before she contemplated the implication of her concession. She smiled into his chest at this thought. Her smile grew into a grin and soon she could barely suppress the giggle that threatened to escape from her lips. She was shaking slightly when Ron emerged from his daze.

"'Mione? 'Mione, are you alright?" He lifted her head by tilting her chin with his fingertips. He was more than surprised to find her eyes twinkling and a smile lighting up her face.

He couldn't form the words to ask, as he obviously had no idea what had come over her. Instead, he looked at her with a curious concern. The look was enough to turn her giggle into several seconds of cheerful laughter.

When her laughter had subsided, Hermione gazed into the confused eyes of her best friend. Still smiling, she said, "I'm coming with you, Ron."

His lips parted in surprise. Despite his lobbying efforts, apparently he hadn't expected her to accept his invitation.

"But . . . but, what about St. Mungo's and your clinic?" His tone was that of disbelief, but she could tell by the sound of his voice that he was reluctant to remind her of her obligations, hoping she would accept his invitation.

"There are enough Healers at St. Mungo's to cover my shifts and I can clear my schedule at the clinic relatively easily. After all, I haven't taken a vacation since I started working . . . I'm due one about now. And the Center," she paused and gave him a humorous look, "which I can tell you are also very concerned with, can be covered by the other members of the Board. Perhaps Ginny wouldn't mind helping out around there until I get back," she wondered aloud.

"Hermione, this is a huge decision," Ron offered, still appearing hesitant to say anything that might bring her back to reality. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

She gazed at him for several minutes and a soft smile crept up on her face. "Ms. Hermione Granger may seem to be the picture of perfection." she began.

He winced at her reference to the angry words he had spoken earlier, but her smile remained intact, reassuring him that she had no further hard feelings. "And she may be positively brilliant in every way," she offered humorously, "but there was one very important lesson that she's been learning over ten years of her life, and it has just clicked into place tonight."

"Oh?" questioned Ron, equally intrigued by her pending proclamation and her comedic tone.

"Thanks to you, Professor Weasley," she said as her mouth curved into a broad grin, "She's learned that perfection is highly overrated."


End file.
